Life Long Affairs
by SongBirdie
Summary: What makes us who we are? For this man, it was the people he knew and the experiences he lived through that made up the sum of the whole of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Written for Sue IMSLES for the White Elephant Exchange 2012 on NFA.


**Life Long Affairs **

By SongBirdie-101

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or make any claim on NCIS; it is the property of its respective creators.

I do not own or make any claim on the song **I Dreamed a Dream**, from **Les Miserables**. It's the property of its respective creators.

**Author's notes:** This story was written for Sue (**IMSLES**) for the** White Elephant Exchange** **2012** on **NFA**. Enjoy, Sue!

**Characters: **Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Shannon Gibbs, Kelly Gibbs, Linda (ex-wife #1), Diane Sterling-Fornell-Gibbs, Jenny Shepard, Ann Gibbs (Gibbs' mother), Stephanie Flynn, Hollis Mann, Lara Macy, Pedro Hernandez, and Jackson Gibbs. Ducky, Mike Franks, Tobias Fornell, and G. Callen mentioned.

**Rating:** Teen, to be on the safe side.

**Pairings:** Gibbs/Shannon, Gibbs/Linda (ex-wife #1), Gibbs/Diane, Gibbs/Jenny, Gibbs/Stephanie, Gibbs/Hollis, Jackson/Ann.

**Genre:** Recollection, Angst, Romance, self-reflection.

**Spoilers: **Up to S9, for details about the characters revealed in later seasons.

**Summary:** What makes us who we are? For this man, it was the people he knew and the experiences he lived through that made up the sum of the whole of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

**Warnings:** This story is about Gibbs, so of course Pedro Hernandez and what he did to Gibbs and what Gibbs did to him is mentioned. Gibbs is bad at relationships, but we knew that. He also curses some. He mentions God a couple times. That's about it.

**Prompt:** I tried to write in all of them, but #3 fits best.

1) When I was a child... choose a character (anyone who's been in at least 5 episodes) and write a time he/she was a child (this could include one during his/her teen years). It may be written as Pre-NCIS or as a recollection.

2) When I became a man/woman... write a story depicting a pivotal moment when a character (anyone who's been in at least 5 episodes) believed he/she became an adult.

3) Now I look back... choose a character (anyone who's been in at least 5 episodes) who reflects back to a time in his/her past that he/she cherished the most in life. This may be written in current NCIS time or Post-NCIS.

* * *

_I had a dream my life would be_

_So different from this hell I'm living_

_So different now from what it seemed_

_Now life has killed_

_The dream I dreamed_. – **I Dreamed a Dream**, from **Les Miserables**

* * *

His parents loved each other. And for a while, that was enough. His father worked the coal mines, and mom stayed home. His first few years were good, happy and easy; things starting going wrong when he was school age. His dad wanted to be home with them more, so he opened the store with his best friend, the man he was named after, L.J. But mom didn't want to be tied down to a shop, running it and counting the books, like his father expected her too. He'd opened it without even talking to her about it first, like usual. She was enjoying the little bit of freedom she had with him in school now, and she didn't want to give that up. She'd always been a free spirit, with a wandering nature that was always seeking _something_, she didn't know what, that was just out of reach.

His mom had always hated being seen as weak. He'd never seen her cry; yell, scream, laugh, smile, sing, yes. Back her into a corner, and she'd fight back, instead of trembling. If she was hurt, she'd hurt someone right back with her biting tongue and stinging rebukes. If she cried or broke down, she had done it where he couldn't see, and he could never tell she had by looking at her.

Hating to be seen as weak, she kept her thoughts close to her heart, and she never revealed more than she had to. It didn't really surprise him then, that when she was sick, dying, and his father was already receiving 'comfort' in other women's beds, she acted normal, like nothing was wrong, except for coming to tuck him into bed that night, and kissing his forehead, something she hadn't done for years, and the next morning she was gone.

Left only a letter, telling them that the doctors miscalculated, that she had so much less time then they'd thought, and her symptoms were starting to come hard.

"I'm not going to make you watch me die, Leroy," she'd written. He couldn't help but think she just didn't want him to see her weak and sickly. She'd admitted as much. "That's not how I want you to remember me, selfish of me, yes, but neither you nor your father should have to see this." She'd let strangers, doctors and nurses, to whom she was just another tragic case; look after her on her deathbed, but not her family. "The money to pay them comes from my Paris anniversary fund for the trip with your father. Can't use it for that now. Plus, this hospice won't take much. Go to Paris for me, Leroy. I hope it's magical, just like we thought."

He'd hated his father for moving on after (_before_) his mother left, (_he didn't even wait that long_), after she died. He swore he'd fall in love once; he yelled and cursed at his father for never loving his mother at all. If he had, he never would have (_done that to her)_ moved on like this, not even waiting until she wouldn't know.

He'd inherited his habits of being a lone wolf, cutting people out, making their choices for them, his hatred of being anything but in control of others around him, himself, and his life, his habit of showing anger when afraid or hurt, and adopting strays, not mention his stubbornness, all from his mother. All that, but she couldn't even give him her hair color. Well, a liking for it, but of all the things, traits, he has in common with (_because of_) his mother, the final tally shows an important and damning list.

His mother had kept her wanderlust her whole life, even when she was a housewife, a happy one, with him and his father. That was yet another thing he'd inherited from her, perhaps the one that would form his whole life. That feeling of needing something _more_, of needing to move, to run so far no one would ever truly know him, to see the world, to be a part of something that mattered, had driven him from Stillwater, to the Corps. The feeling had abided a bit when he'd found Shannon, when they built their life together, and even more when they had Kelly. Being with his girls, together and separately, was the most complete he'd ever felt, like he'd found just who he was looking for.

But he still felt the itch to move, to seek out the thrill of being more as a part of a whole then he was by being the sum of it. He missed his girls more than anything; every time he left, every time he hugged Shannon, then Kelly, goodbye, he felt something inside him break, but another part of him, the one that had his mother's sprit, only truly felt alive directing his men, being in the middle of a firefight, fighting for his country, for his girls.

Lining up his rifle, feeling the power and the burden that rested in his hands, releasing the trigger, making shots, kills, no one else could make, could reach, being in complete control of another human beings life, holding their fate in, on, only his finger on the trigger, on the orders he received, made him feel cold and calm, precise and numb, satisfied and self-loathing, proud and disgusted, knowing he completed his mission, knowing he killed someone's father, mother, daughter, son, husband, wife, sister, brother, friend, enemy. Someone that had a life, that left an impression on people, whose death would be known, if not mourned, by someone, and he'd ended all of that.

When his girls were murdered, when he woke up from his coma, 19 days after failing to die in that explosion, 19 days spent trying to deny the rest of his life, he knew didn't have a life without his girls. They'd taken every part of him that mattered, his heart, his soul, with them when they died. He knew what he had to do. When his father brought a date to their funeral, when Joanne was blaming him, telling him things he already knew, when he realized he couldn't damn himself, couldn't pull the trigger on his handgun to join them when their murderer was still alive, when Mike left out the file that would change everything and nothing, when he'd used all he'd learned in the Corps to hunt Pedro Hernandez down and kill him, he didn't think about the fact he could be a husband, a father, a friend to someone, even, someone else's enemy. He didn't think about his life, didn't think about the impressions he might have left, didn't wonder if anyone would mourn him. All he felt, all he cared about was the gaping hole in his heart and sanity, a hole shaped like his girls, showing where they used to be, where they would never be again. He didn't think about the fact that this was cold-blooded murder, that it was vengeance, not justice; he didn't even, wouldn't, couldn't, let himself think about the fact Shannon wouldn't have wanted him to do this, that Kelly wouldn't have wanted this from her daddy.

All of that would come later, right then, all he thought about was that Pedro Hernandez hadn't cared when he shot and killed that NIS agent, who was just doing his job, hadn't cared when he murdered Shannon to silence her for daring to speak up against him, killing her to get away with his murder of that Marine, hadn't cared when Kelly died in the car crash he caused. No, he hadn't cared. And right then, neither did he; all he cared about was answering the call of every primal instinct in him that bade for the blood of his family's killer, that wanted to see the life fade from his eyes, see his blood bleed out, inflict on him even just a fraction of pain he had caused him. Justice might be right, but vengeance fuels. And for someone who had nothing left, he needed that reason to go on.

When Lara Macy threw that reason, his girls, and his pain in his face, he just wanted her to stop. He still felt he'd done the only thing he could do; he didn't care if it was right or wrong. He had to do it. He knew she could lock him up now and throw away the key. He didn't care. Why not make his figurative life literal? Trapped, alone, with no way out and no light at the end of the tunnel, caged behind bars; sounded about right. And she knew it, too; for a while he really thought she was going to put him away, but she must have seen something in him, after she tore into every open emotional wound he had, made them bleed even harder, something that made her change her mind. Maybe she realized what he already knew; he couldn't have gone on with Hernandez alive and his girls dead. If he was walking wounded now, he doesn't know what he'd be like if he hadn't killed Hernandez, but he thinks he really would have pulled the trigger on his handgun. Whatever she truly thought about it, Macy ruled the killing justified and buried any and all evidence that there had ever been an investigation to begin with.

When he first met and started dating Linda, the first woman he'd dated since Shannon, he told himself it was nothing like what his father had done. She was a bright, quiet woman, and she enjoyed spending time with him. That was good, right? Shannon would like that, right? The fact she had red hair and a similar build to Shannon had nothing to do with his attraction to her. When she wanted to get married, he thought he could do it. He liked her, her calm, the fact she didn't push him for more. They got along, and he was tired of being alone. When their marriage failed, he told himself that he'd been wrong, that they just had different goals after all, that the fact he thought of her more as a very close friend to share his bed and life, while she loved him, wasn't the reason for their relationship's demise. He didn't let himself think of her tears, her pleas to talk, to go to counseling, to work through this. He didn't think of her tear-stained face wrenched in agony asking him "Did you ever love me at all?" And her face crumbling, sobs over taking her at his loss of words. No, he didn't think of that _(he never let himself forget_.) It was just another failure among many.

He and Diane were all fire, all the time. She was all passion, in your face, emotion. Completely different than he and Linda, which could only be a good thing, he thought. She was beautiful, red hair and vibrant eyes. She wasn't afraid to tell him when she thought he was wrong, she didn't push him for marriage, pleased at it, but she didn't need it, and she said she understood his duty to his job, as long as he came home to her. And she did, for a while. She was still passionate, in the bedroom and out. She understood when he said he didn't want more children. She wasn't the maternal type, she'd say, laughing. But she would want him to talk to her when he was in a mood, talk about his cases, his childhood, Shannon, Kelly, Linda, whatever he was thinking about. And she wanted him to take some time off, not work every shift he could, let some of the other agents do some work to earn their pay. She'd scream instead of cry if he compared her to Shannon, and he'd hide out at work even more.

Lonely, her passion turned into anger, and when her words to repair their relationship, to talk, to even just spend time together fell on deaf ears, when it seemed as if her husband had already decided that their marriage was doomed, well, two can play that game, when being angry, frosty silence, yelling, and incriminations didn't work either, when she needed to have someone love her, it led to him walking in on her cheating on him with Fornell, seeing her sleeping with Fornell, in _their_ bed. The last days of their marriage, all her passion was hate, and he was just tired. Things were said that could never be taken back, and bad feelings were wrapped around both of them like cloaks. The golf club to the head was a long time coming.

Their marriage left her bitter and angry over never being enough, of loving him more than she'd ever love anyone else, but unable to continue coming in second to a dead woman, to his job. It left him guilty for what he'd done to her to make her what she'd become. He'd ruined her just like he'd ruined Linda. He hid his guilt and pain over what he'd done to them behind bitterness and anger, behind the idea of being the wronged party. It was easier.

He and Jenny could be whoever they wanted to be. Far away from the grind, wear and tear of their real lives, with no one who knew them, in a magical, foreign city with only each other for backup and companionship, well, it was a bit inevitable. There was nothing to remind him of what he'd lost here, no rooms frozen in time, waiting for someone who'd never be back, no walls with half-finished new wall paper showing where one woman tried to make this empty house her home, no holes telling where a golf club had swung through. He wasn't anything he didn't want to be here, and she made him feel alive again, in this fabled city, one he'd heard so much of during his childhood. She was sweet and feisty, bright and vulnerable, independent and afraid to be alone, loving and playful, and she had his favorite hair color. She reminded him of himself. She pushed him to try new things, to be here, to think, to be more in the moment than he'd been since the last time Shannon was alive.

She was just as devoted to this job as he was, maybe even more. He didn't have to plead with her to understand, he didn't have to deal with stony silences, resigned disappointment that he'd missed another dinner, another date night, she was his partner, in bed, on their dates, on their missions. And it felt exhilarating. He didn't have to hide part of who he was, didn't have to try and quench his wanderlust for her, his passion for his job. She had her own case of wanderlust, had so much wonder for the world, she wouldn't even wait for him, just took his hand and showed him something new, something else, "isn't it brilliant and wonderful," she'd say, and he'd tell her "just like you."

Paris was even lovelier than his mother had thought. They lost themselves in it, in the job, in each other, forgot about real life. That was their mistake. Real life wasn't like being undercover, wasn't just the two of them. They had responsibilities waiting for them, memories, dreams, secrets and ambitions. And they'd been so caught up in the magic they hadn't talked about their real life ambitions, their real life secrets. Maybe if they had things would have been different. Maybe she'd have known he wouldn't hold her dreams and ambitions of rising to the top against her, that he'd have supported her, stayed by and with her. Maybe he'd have known she was scared of how hard she'd fallen for him, that she was terrified she'd have to choice between love and success, and she wasn't sure this was more than a fling for him. But neither of them wanted to break the last bit of magic, and each assumed about the other, waiting for them to speak first and time slipped past them. And she left brokenhearted thinking he wouldn't support her and what was between them must have never been what she thought it was, that this was her only choice. And he was left behind, again, angry that with all they shared he was left with only a letter, that his best wasn't good enough, that he'd been a fool to think she could love him, and this, yet another failure, proved it.

He'd known Stephanie since shortly after his divorce with Diane, when Ducky introduced them. He thinks Ducky knew her father, but he never got that story out of him, oddly enough. They went on one date and then lost track of each other for a while. When he came back from Paris angry and bitter, he gave her a call. She was thrilled to hear from him, and they started dating. When he proposed to her after only a few months together, she was ecstatic, and he tried to ignore Ducky's warning not to do this to either of them if he wasn't sure, if he was just trying to distract himself from the fact he still missed Jenny. He hates when Ducky turns out to be right about these things.

When he got assigned to work in Moscow shortly before their wedding, he wondered if he was making a mistake. Stephanie was excited about it, calling it a "long honeymoon." So while he was working undercover ops with Callen, gone for days or weeks at a time, his new bride was left alone in a foreign city, with no one she knew except an absent husband and his "work friend." He'd come back to where they were living and she'd be angry, or sad, depending on the day, and sometimes, drunk. She'd tell him she knew more about the life of the owner of the local liquor store than his. Once, on a good day, when they went out to dinner and then he had two days off, which they spent half of in bed, she told him "Moscow was beautiful, but in a cold, distant, unreachable sort of way. You could look, but no matter how much you searched, its secrets were impenetrable." She just looked at him then, and he knew what she wasn't saying, _like you_.

By the time his assignment was over and they were ready to go back to the States, they both knew this wasn't working. He couldn't open up enough for her, she hated that his job came before her, hated the thought he might be killed, and she wanted children. He couldn't deal with her anxiety that he'd leave for work one day and never come back, though he understood it. He wasn't able to hide as much about his job from her as he had with his other wives, the two of them living together on assignment in a different country. And he simply couldn't bear the thought of having another child, of living with the fear that something might happen to them, too. And he was honest enough with himself to know he would always be comparing any other children to Kelly, and he wouldn't do that. Bad enough he did it to the women he married, always thinking of Shannon, but he wouldn't put an innocent child through that.

She wanted to get counseling, and he'd gone, figuring he owed her. But it didn't help. "Because you're not trying, Jethro," was a frequent answer to that. When she starting drinking more and more, and he wanted to be at work, but had all this time off because of an overseas assignment, all their issues led to even more fighting, each one more and more vicious, him storming off into the basement, and her crying. She filed for divorce after they were back in the States for a total of two months and 6 days. When Ducky heard, he just gave him a look that screamed _I told you so_. With this many ruined marriages; maybe his ex's were onto something when they said he drives them and their love away.

In hindsight, he admits he and Hollis were probably never meant to be, and they were doomed for sure once she found out about Shannon and Kelly, plus from Ducky, not him. He really should know better than to keep doing this to himself, and to these women, by now. But it always seems like maybe this time around it will work out. That's what he always hopes for, anyway. He may live with ghosts, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get lonely. Hollis seemed different. She pursued him, for a start. She had a job just like his; hell, they met while doing their jobs, so she knew he could be a bastard. She'd never shown any interest in having children, admitting she'd let the chance for them pass her by. She wasn't one to be pushed over, but she didn't like to pick fights, either. She didn't even have red hair. She wanted him, and since the explosion and retiring to Mexico he wanted to forget the refreshed memories of his dead wife and daughter. And things were fun between them, when they were just for fun. Once she started pushing for more, he knew it was the beginning of the end. He couldn't live through another marriage and divorce like the last three, and he didn't wish a nightmare like that on her in a million years. He told her as much when they broke up in his basement. She didn't agree, but said she could see where he was coming from, and she knew he wasn't going to change his mind. "You've already decided, Jethro. There's no point in trying to save a relationship when the other person doesn't want to. Be safe, and try to be happy." She walked up his basements steps, out of his life, and was shortly off to Lana'i, Hawaii, never letting her tears fall where he could see them.

He knows who he is, and he accepts it. He may not like some of the things he's done, the way certain relationships in his life have turned out, might ache from loss, might deny things he knows to be true to get through the day, but he knows who he is and why. He is his mother's son, just as stubborn, just as free spirited, he is the love-wrecked widow of Shannon, no one has ever or will ever match her in his eyes; the grieving father of Kelly, his beautiful, baby girl, he'd give anything to see her one more time; the ex-husband of serene, lovely Linda, he never loved her like she loved him; the ex-husband of passionate, lonely Diane, he blames himself for her bitterness; the former lover of feisty, vibrant Jenny, who was independent till the end, just like his mother; the ex-husband of daring, dreaming Stephanie, who deserves someone stable and loving, who can give her the things he couldn't, wouldn't; the former lover of strong and steady Hollis, he's sorry he can't be what she wanted; sorry he couldn't be what any of them wanted or needed, he's a United States Marine, loyal to his country, to his men, even when that loyalty takes everything from him; but when it's good it makes him feel invincible; and that's what he clings to, that feeling of being alive, of contentment, love, happiness, that all these people and experiences have given him. His name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and when he dies, if and when he's judged, that is how he will identify himself to whatever bastard created and watched over this wonderful mess called life. These are the parts of him that make up the sum of his whole. God help him.

* * *

May 23rd

Valerie P.


End file.
